"Ugh... my head."
A young man woke suddenly, warmth pressing in from both sides—two bodies, one on his left, another on his right. He jolted upright with a start, chest heaving.
"Uff...uff...damn it..." He clutched his head, pain hammering inside his skull. Nausea twisted in his gut. As his vision cleared, he noticed empty bottles scattered across the floor. The sharp stench of alcohol hung in the air, mixed with something stranger—clothing that looked like cosplay costumes.
"What the hell... what am I doing here?" he muttered, scanning the room. "If I remember right... I was dead. How the hell did I end up here?"
The chamber was huge, filled with ornate furniture and gilded decorations—straight out of a Western medieval film.
"Hah... I'm definitely dreaming," he told himself, lying back down. But then, the girl beside him placed a delicate hand on his bare chest.
His eyes snapped wide.
"Your Highness, did you just wake up?"
Your Highness? He froze, refusing to answer, keeping his eyes shut. She looked foreign—long pink hair, impossibly beautiful, more than any of the women he'd known back in college, back when he was teaching. Such a shame... I won't see you again, he thought bitterly.
This has to be a dream. The last thing he remembered was the pain—unbearable, searing pain—as he leapt from the rooftop.
"Your Highness?" she asked again, her voice filled with concern.
He sighed, squeezing his eyes tighter, trying to will himself back to sleep. But no matter how long he lay there, it wouldn't come.
Finally, he opened them again—and shot up for the second time. "Is this real... or just another hallucination?"
"Your Highness, is something wrong?"
He froze. She was speaking English. Back in college, he'd struggled with it—yet now, every word rang clear, natural. What the hell is happening? How did I even end up here?
The young woman's expression shifted, confusion mingling with unease. "You must have been tired after last night."
Last night? His gaze swept the room, the scattered bottles, the two women beside him. Even a kid could put it together.
"Your Highness..." she pressed, worry tightening her face. "Are you okay? Do you need some water?"
"No need," he began, then stopped. The words slipped out of his mouth in perfect English, smooth and flawless. No stutter. No hesitation. How is this even possible...? He swallowed hard, then forced the words: "Who the hell are you? And why do you keep calling me 'Your Highness'? I'm just a college professor. I'm supposed to be dead. Did you... do this?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
She blinked at him, baffled, like he'd said the most absurd thing imaginable. But absurd or not, nothing here made sense.
"Are you still drunk, Your Highness?" she asked cautiously.
"Drunk? What are you talking about?"
"Okay... let's calm down," she said softly. "Your name is King Leonard Ignis Aurelion III. You're the current king of Solvaris."
His thoughts spiraled. That name... it stirred something deep in his memory. King Leonard Ignis Aurelion III... Why did it sound so familiar?
The woman on his left stirred, rubbing her eyes before sitting up. "Your Highness... don't you remember? You're the famous 'Foolish King.'" She yawned and stretched her arms lazily.
"Anita, shut up!"
She shrugged. "What? He asked. He deserves the truth. Either way, he'll snap back to normal—it must be a side effect of the drugs." She slipped out of bed and began dressing. "After all, he's the Foolish King—obsessed with pleasure, drowning in drugs, and never caring about the well-being of his kingdom."
Drugs? Foolish King? His mind reeled. What the hell is she talking about? And did she just insult the king? Aren't kings supposed to be respected?
"Urk—!"
A brutal pain split his skull. Memories crashed into him—childhood, teenage years, adulthood—all slamming into his brain in a matter of seconds.
It felt just like the moment he died... except this wasn't his life flashing before his eyes. It was someone else's.
"Huh? Your Highness!"
"Call someone!" The pink-haired woman panicked, fumbling to throw her clothes on as she reached for the door.
"No need—don't panic, I'm fine." He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead, though his whole body shook.
"Shit..."
Now it made sense. The name, the fragments of memory—it all clicked.
The body he had taken over belonged to none other than a ridiculous character from a novel he'd once read. A third-rate villain. No—calling him a villain was generous. He wasn't even that. He was just a pathetic, drunken addict who neglected his duties as king and got himself killed within two chapters.
He exhaled shakily, muttering under his breath, "Who am I to call you pathetic... when I'm just as flawed?"
The man sighed heavily. He was no better—he'd thrown away his own life. But after seeing the king's memories, he realized the man wasn't entirely at fault either. The court, the nobles, even his own people had been circling like vultures, waiting to snatch the throne.
Still... how exactly had the Foolish King died? And where had his soul gone?
This so-called reincarnation made no sense. Impossible. And yet... he couldn't ignore it. Especially not when he remembered the title of the very book this character came from—The Rise of the Blood Hero.
"Ugh... I hate this."
"Your Highness, I'm sure you'll be fine." The pink-haired woman touched his shoulder gently and gave him a reassuring smile.
At least she knew how to soothe him. Unlike that other woman—Anita. Rude as ever.
"What? Why are you staring at me?" Anita, now fully dressed, strolled over and tossed something toward him. A strange-looking book. "Here. I found this. Maybe it'll be useful to you. Or just throw it away—I know you hate books."
"Book?"
Leonard took it in his hands and flipped it open. His brow furrowed. "...There are no pages. It's blank."
"I know." Anita smirked. "Some weird lady gave it to me. Consider it payment for last night."
Leonard froze. Payment? For spending the night with her? His jaw tightened. What is she taking me for—a prostitute? No one has ever dared disrespect me like this.
And besides—who even was she? He couldn't recall anyone like her from the novel's story.
Before he could question her, Anita winked, tapped him lightly on the chest, and teased, "Go back to normal, Your Highness. Maybe next time we can share another bottle of wine."
Then, in a blink, she leapt straight out the window.
"What?!" Leonard shot up, the pink-haired woman grabbing at him in alarm.
"Wait, Your Highness!"
But he broke free, clutching a bedsheet around his body, and rushed to the window.
Gone.
He leaned out, eyes darting everywhere. No sign of her. Not even a trace.
Instead, what stole his breath was the view—the vast garden below, perfectly tended, dotted with fountains and flowers. Servants in crisp uniforms moved briskly across the grounds, working in neat order.
It was... breathtaking. Like stepping into the scene of a film.
"Well... such a shame. This kingdom—I'll just leave it to them." He muttered under his breath. "Better to walk away than die for it. I can't afford to be caught up in politics and war."
"Your Highness?"
The voice was soft. Delicate.
He turned and saw her—the pink-haired woman. She stood there, looking at him with those gentle eyes.
He smiled faintly. Maybe... maybe this isn't so bad. Maybe I could take her with me. Start over. Live quietly. Far away from all this. A family... a peaceful life.
The moment he turned fully—
Shkk!
Pain exploded in his leg. He stumbled, eyes wide, looking down in disbelief. A dagger had buried itself deep into his thigh.
Before he could even scream, he looked up.
The pink-haired woman stood firm, arm still extended, her expression unreadable.
"You—!"
"Ahhhhhhh! My leg!" His scream tore through the chamber as the dagger's bite seared through him.